


everyone has something to say

by paperpenpal



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fluff, No Beta, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), and sylvain does really dumb stuff, light humor, lighter and softer versions of everyone, more rom than com though, rom com au take 2, when i say rom com au i mean it's cheesy and the kids don't have as much emotional trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24686896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperpenpal/pseuds/paperpenpal
Summary: Ingrid is hot.Sylvain doesn't know what to do about it.Everyone else seems to have an idea though.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Sylvain Jose Gautier & Dedue Molinaro, Sylvain Jose Gautier & Mercedes von Martritz
Comments: 17
Kudos: 98





	everyone has something to say

**Author's Note:**

> Me: I'm just going to write a quick silly ficlet
> 
> 6k worth off words later: oops.

So here’s the thing,

The thing he knows and has known for a while now but doesn’t want to think about:

Ingrid is hot.

And while Sylvain is not one to shy away from how cute a girl is, not one to shy away from telling the girl how cute she is, regardless of consequences, hell, has even told Ingrid herself how cute she is, regardless of consequences,

He does not want to think about it.

Because if he starts thinking about it too much, if he stops and considers the weight of where all his flirting could go, he starts dreaming

And that is an absolutely horrible and not to mention dangerous idea.

Because he has no chance with her. He doesn’t want that chance with her. Because, and this, he knows is terrible, he values her too much.

Because, at the end of the day, Sylvain has had many friends, has had many flings, has even had flings with friends, but Ingrid, Ingrid is one of his best friends.

And he does not want to lose that. And for what? Over a chance to hold her? Kiss her? Trace his fingers along her-

Nope.

There is so much ugly in him and she knows it and somehow, by the grace of the Goddess, she doesn’t hate him for it. She scolds and teases and drags him by the ear but she doesn’t hate him. Judges him, sure, but stays by him anyway. Always, she says, always, because he knows she just wants him to do better.

Too bad he’s really bad at doing better.

Too bad she’s just so damn beautiful that he’s having a hard time taking his eyes off of her.

He’s not sure what happened, what sparked this sudden onslaught of interest. Maybe it was the way she smiled at him this morning, teasing him about his bedhead, maybe it was the way his ears burned when she tugged him straight into the classroom, maybe it was when she threw him onto the ground while they were sparing, training lance-head at his throat, maybe it wasn’t sudden at all.

—

He gets caught staring at Ingrid no less than three times in the span of a single dinner. It’s just Annette, who doesn’t say anything, but he knows she notices because Annette shows everything on her face and her face says “hmm, what’s going on there?”

He thinks, maybe he should be a little more subtle about it and then he spends too much time thinking about being subtle and trying to convey through his eyes alone to Annette to _please don’t say anything_ that he misses what Ingrid says to him completely.

“Erm,” he says. “Can you say that again?”

Ingrid follows his line of sight, realizes he was staring at Annette and sighs. “Never mind,” she says, playfully and (thankfully) lightly chopping him on the head. “It’s not important.”

He wants to bury his hands in his face because he knows that Ingrid thinks he’s staring at Annette for other reasons when the only reason he was staring at Annette is because of Ingrid. But he also doesn’t want Ingrid to know that he was staring at her.

Yeah, the whole thing is a mess of conflict in his head. It feels a bit like he’s making a bit deal about nothing but then he looks at Ingrid again, looks at the way she chatters away happily with Felix about something and his heart completely stalls out and he knows, well, it’s not nothing and it is important.

—

Sylvain stumbles upon Dimitri in the Knight’s Hall after being turned down by three girls in the span of three hours. He has no idea why. He used to be so good with girls and, even when he wasn’t, even when no effort was being put in, half of the girls didn’t care so he could get away with a lot.

He never said he was a nice person.

He groans as he settles against the bookshelf next to Dimitri, who greets him politely but quickly goes back to reading.

He hadn’t intended on finding his friend here, he just wanted to find someplace to sulk and massage his pride out but, now that he’s next to his friend, he wonders if maybe he should talk to him. If maybe talking about it would help but His Highness seems busy, not that that has ever really stopped Sylvain before.

“Can I help you with something Sylvain?” Dimitri eventually asks when Sylvain continues to stare, arms crossed at the prince.

Hell, he’ll just go for it. “What do you think I’m doing wrong?”

Dimitri closes the book, glances up, eyebrows furrowed. “I’m not sure I know what you’re referring to Sylvain.”

“With girls,” he explains. “I just got turned down again.”

Dimitri seems struck for a second, eyes wide. “I don’t believe I am the person who you should be consulting with here,” he says when he recovers. “If you recall, things didn’t exactly go well the last time.”

Sylvain shrugs. “Just because you keep giving girls daggers doesn’t -”

“It was a single dagger Sylvain, to a single girl, years ago.”

“Okay, fine, but that actually proves my point even better. Maybe you’ll have a different perspective on all of this.” He gestures vaguely to the air.

“A different perspective…on girls…?” Dimitri tries.

“Yeah,” Sylvain says. “Maybe it’ll help.”

“Well,” Dimitri says, still looking uncomfortable, “I am always willing to help a friend. I’m just not sure how much help I’ll be able to provide.”

“I’m just trying to figure out what’s changed. Like have I lost my charm? Am I suddenly ugly? What happened? Why are they all turning me down? I can usually score a date or two.”

“Well, um.” Dimitri coughs. “I can’t really comment on your charm but you look the same as you always have Sylvain. Have you noticed anything different about yourself lately?”

Watching Dimitri struggle with trying to sound diplomatic and noble in the face of his girl problems is way too amusing for Sylvain to feel bad about but he tries to keep his tone genuine because he _is_ actually trying to be genuine, although he hadn’t actually put a lot of faith in Dimitri being able to help. The last time they talked about girls it was because Dimitri had burst into his room in a panic.

“I mean, I _feel_ the same,” Sylvain tells his friend. “I don’t know, have you noticed anything?”

Dimitri looks like he wants to say something but doesn’t.

“Oh come on Your Highness, what is it?”

“You _have_ been behaving differently,” Dimitri says eventually. “But really only around Ingrid.”

“Can’t help it if I get a little tongue-tied around a pretty girl,” he says quickly and a little too easily.

Dimitri levels him a glance, a glance that says a lot of things but mostly _I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s not working._ The Prince continues, trying not to sound too exasperated, “Sylvain, why did you come to me?”

“I told you, I wanted an outside perspective.”

”Is that truly the case?” Dimitri presses, “or did you just want me to confirm something you already know?”

Rude, way to call him out.

“What do I already know?”

Dimitri sighs. “Well if you’re not willing to admit it, then I’m certainly not going to do it for you.”

He knew he should have just gone to Felix.

—

Sylvain has decided that the best possible course of action right now is to double down on his flirting with other girls and avoid the hell out of Ingrid. Yeah, because then maybe he doesn’t have to keep thinking about her, maybe then, he could just continue to pretend like things are normal.

Too bad she is literally everywhere. It’s insane how she is everywhere. He didn’t notice it before but he does spend a crazy amount of time with her.

She’s there in class, she’s in the training grounds, they take meals at the same time, she even comes to wake him up in the morning when he oversleeps. It’s exhausting and frustrating. It never used to matter before.

Hell, it used to be fun.

Now, when he sees her, he ducks behind pillars like a child, now when he sees her, he dives into bushes and ends up with an ass full of splinters.

Yeah, it’s really that bad.

The one date he manages to score for that week is so damn boring that he doesn’t even kiss the girl goodnight and there is no reason for it. She is perfectly nice, he thinks he even believes her when she says she likes him, but something about his heart just isn’t in this anymore.

And that’s terrifying.

—

Annette finds him ducking, crouched down for no good reason, behind a bookshelf in the library later that week. At first, he doesn’t notice her because he’s too busy trying to peer around the shelf without giving himself away. Ingrid doesn’t seem to notice, she is deep in a text, scribbling away for her next certification exam.

He tells himself he’s watching for a perfect opportunity to escape but the truth is, he knows he could, he could simply duck around the shelves and be out the door.

Yeah, he doesn’t know why he’s like this either.

It isn’t until Annette taps his shoulders that he notices her there, and he startles so hard that he slams his head back into the shelf.

“Oh! I’m sorry!” Annette whispers frantically. “I didn’t mean to startle you, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he assures her, sitting down against the shelf. Annette stands over him, looking amused now that she knows he’s fine. “Hey Annette, how long have you been there?”

Her smile is teasing, amused, and light. “A few minutes,” she admits, “but I was reading. When you weren’t moving, I decided to come over and see what you were doing.”

“I wasn’t doing anything!” he says quickly.

“Really? Because it looks like you’re staring at Ingrid.”

He considers his options. He could deny it or he could lean into it. Leaning into it didn’t really work with Dimitri but Annette’s already caught him staring, multiple times, there would be no sense in denying it. It would just sound even more pathetic and weird than it already does. “I like looking at pretty girls.” Sylvain shrugs, and then immediately winces since it sounds…unfortunately creepy.

“Girls, as in multiple?” she teases, kneeling down next to him.

Okay so leaning into it didn’t work. Why were all his friends so damned clever?

“I have no idea what you mean by that,” he says, trying for denial. “I have always been vocal about my love for all women.”

“Except for the bit where I’ve caught you staring at Ingrid a million times this week alone.”

“That’s not possible,” he tells her. “I’ve been avoiding-” He snaps his mouth shut as quickly as possible but it’s already too late.

Annette’s face is utterly triumphant.

“I knew it!” she says, looking very much like she wants to fist pump. “I knew you were acting weird.”

“What? No, I haven’t been acting weird! No, I was just, you know-” he babbles, sounding like an idiot. What is going on with him?

Annette is usually so earnest. He had no idea she would be capable of setting a trap like that, one that he readily walked into. This is something he might expect from Dorothea or Hilda, not Annette. It’s also probably why it worked.

“Damn it.” He groans, giving up.

She looks sympathetic and she’s someone who’s kind enough to try to hide the way she smiles. He can still see it but he appreciates the attempt. “Aw, it’s okay Sylvain, I won’t tell anyone.”

Some form of relief begins to creep in at her words but then she continues,

“But, uh, I think Ingrid already knows.”

 _“What?!”_ He knocks his head straight back into a rather large book with a particularly painful spine. For all his physical pain he is awarded one very stern death glare and hush from a nearby librarian that makes him feel he should sleep with one eye open tonight.

Annette mouths a quick sorry to them before returning her focus back to Sylvain. “Um, I mean, Sylvain…” she says gently. “You’re not really hiding it very well.”

“I thought I was doing a pretty good job!”

This is a blatant lie. He knows for a fact that it’s been one atrocious attempt after another but he has too much pride to admit otherwise. This is the hill he will die on, he guesses. He didn’t think it would be but here he is.

“You had to get Mercedes to stitch up your pants from when you jumped into that bush.”

“I tripped!”

“Uh-huh.”

He sighs. “Okay, so I’ve been staring at Ingrid, or trying not to stare at her, so what? She’s pretty. I like to stare.”

Okay, that sounds really bad too. What happened to all his charm? For some reason, they just come off sounding intensely creepy or…wait, was he always this bad? Yikes. That’s a thought for another time.

“Sylvain,” Annette says, patting him on the shoulder, “have you tried maybe being a little more sincere?”

He frowns. “What’s that going to do?”

Annette sighs and shakes her head. She seems like she’s about to say something but then she looks up, looks beyond Sylvain and says, “hey Ingrid.”

Sylvain startles again and knocks himself into that book. Again.

He watches Annette wince but she’s still wearing that amused smile.

Ingrid is looming over them. She has a hand on one of her hips, the other one dangles at her side, she also has an eyebrow raised.

From the way she stands, just above him, he can see all the lines in her-

Yeah no.

He thinks about gulping, it feels like the right thing to do, feels like the immediate reaction his body wants to give but he’s too busy rubbing the back of his head to do it.

“I can hear you guys whispering from over there,” Ingrid says.

Something drops to the bottom of Sylvain’s stomach. He’s not sure what it is. Maybe it’s his brain because he starts babbling again. “Oh Ingrid, didn’t know you were here! It wasn’t like I was staring at you or anything erm, I mean, I was just hanging out here, in the library with uh, Annette, you know Annette right? Our friend and classmate?”

Goddess what is wrong with him.

Annette tries to stifle her laughter. “He hit his head pretty hard,” she tries to excuse, but he has no doubt that everyone here knows she’s just trying to be nice. He’s not getting out of this one.

Ingrid says nothing to either of them. She just continues to stand there with her eyebrow raised. It’s like she knows that if she stays quiet, he’ll dig himself deeper into this stupid hole. And the worst part is? He is fully aware that’s true and yet it still happens.

“So uh, since you are here,” he stammers, scrambling to get up, Annette follows suit beside him, although much less frantically, “what are you doing here? I bet you were studying right? But now you’re not, because you’re here and uh…how much did you hear anyway?”

“Nothing really,” she says finally. “Are you okay Sylvain? You’re acting really weird.”

“Weird? I’m not weird.” He does his best to fight the flush he knows is on his face but the way his voice cracks does not help. “I just uh- like Annette said, I hit my head really hard. In fact, I should probably get that checked, I’ll see you guys later.”

He runs out of there, literally runs, before either of them can respond but he’s pretty sure he hears Ingrid’s unimpressed “wow,” and Annette’s “yeah.” as he bolts out the door.

—

This is a disaster. He is an absolute tongue-tied disaster and he has no idea how he got here. Ingrid is so pretty but that can’t be the only reason why he’s like this. Because he has seen many pretty girls, hell he has been with pretty girls, this is not just about a pretty girl.

This is about a pretty girl who is Ingrid, who he remembers destroying all her childhood dresses in the mud, who he remembers toothless, brandishing a stick three times her size as a sword as she slew a make-believe dragon. This is Ingrid who is not supposed to be this pretty, with that neck, those legs, that chest and-

He has _got_ to stop.

“You’re pacing,” Felix observes, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. “In my room.”

Sylvain spins around, glances back and forth, and realizes, yes, this is definitely Felix’s room. There are way too many swords on the wall. For comparison, Sylvain has exactly no swords on his wall.

“Oh,” he says blinking, stopping to look up. “Sorry.”

How did he even get in here? Did he force the door open and not realize it? Was the door just unlocked? It didn’t seem like Felix to simply leave his door unlocked. He looks at the doorknob and tries to see if there are any signs of it being broken but finds none.

Felix sighs, enters, and closes the door behind him before unlacing his boots. “What is it?” he asks, sounding defeated or perhaps very tired.

Sylvain is delighted. It is not like Felix to be so interested in him suddenly showing up out of the blue. “I-” he starts, but then he pauses, unsure what to say.

Does he tell Felix, “I think our mutual friend is super hot and I don’t know what to do about it?” How will Felix even react to that? Well? Poorly?

“So?” Felix says instead.

Oh, so it seems Sylvain had said that thought out loud. Might as well roll with it. It’s what he’s good at, although, he supposes it hasn’t really worked out in his favor lately. All of his friends just keep calling him out.

“What do you mean _so?_ ” he says, crossing his arms.

“That’s not exactly new information,” Felix says without looking up.

“What? Ingrid being hot or me not knowing what to do about it?”

“Both,” Felix says, kicking his shoes off and placing them neatly beside the door. He begins to shrug off his uniform coat and then promptly bypasses Sylvain to sit at his desk.

“You think Ingrid is hot?” Sylvain can’t help but ask and…kind of accuse if he’s being honest. It’s weird, he knows the feeling he’s getting is a form of creeping slow jealousy but he doesn’t like it and he doesn’t want it so he refuses to think about it.

Doesn’t change the fact that he feels it a teeny tiny bit, even though Felix has done absolutely nothing wrong.

Felix ignores this. “Why don’t you just tell her?” he says as he busies himself with something on his desk. It looks like he’s scribbling something but he has his back to Sylvain so Sylvain can’t tell what it is.

“I can’t just tell her!”

“Why not? You used to tell her all the time.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean it!” Wow, that sounded really bad too. “Wait,” he says. “That came out wrong.”

“That’s not unusual.”

“Hey!”

Felix doesn’t respond. Even with his back towards him, Sylvain can tell his friend is smirking.

“I meant,” Sylvain tries to correct, “that yeah, Ingrid has always been pretty but I never wanted to…”

Felix turns in his chair, arm resting against the back and in the face of the way his friend looks at him, Sylvain loses track of his words and feels his face warm again.

There is only silence for a moment before Felix finally huffs, patience having run out. “Still not going to say it?”

Sylvain shakes his head. “Nope."

“Suit yourself.” Felix shrugs returning to whatever he was doing.

Why is this so hard?

—

He has kitchen cleaning duty with Mercedes. He is somehow looking forward to this, if only for the fact that he can finally find some peace. Mercedes is nice. She wouldn’t bring him further into despair like the rest of his friends, right?

“How’s your butt Sylvain?”

He never ever thought he would ever hear those words out of her mouth or really...anyone’s mouth. His butt is fine but it’s not spectacular or anything. “What?” he asks, flabbergasted.

“I said, how are you?”

“Oh,” he says, furrowing his eyebrows. “That makes…way more sense.”

Mercedes throws him a puzzled look but doesn’t ask. He’s grateful because he doesn’t want to end up rambling on about his butt. He seems more prone to rambling lately, which is unusual and awful and he wishes he could just stop.

“You’ve been distracted lately,” she observes kindly as she continues washing the dishes. His job today is to dry them. “Is something the matter?”

Well, actually, his job is to wipe down the counters but right now he’s busying himself with drying them.

Or maybe he’s just busying himself with drying the same plate over and over again. The kitchen uses only one style of plate and he’s kind of lost track of what he’s doing. He continues to contemplate this when Mercedes finally takes a soft hold of his elbow, stilling his hands.

“Hmm?” he says with a smile and an eyebrow raised. “Oh Mercedes, how-”

He tries to think of a line, something that involves touch. Something about having a hold over him? But nothing comes and Mercedes interrupts before he even gets a chance to try.

“What’s wrong Sylvain?”

He bristles, pursing his lips. “Nothing’s wrong when you’re around!”

That’s…marginally better than nothing…marginally.

She sighs looking disappointed but not surprised. “I thought we were going to be a little more honest with each other now,” she says never losing her gentle tone but recalling her hand and begins to turn back towards the dishes. “That’s a shame, I thought we were better friends than that.”

Ouch. That was very pointed and it stung, stung really ridiculously hard. He almost drops his plate. How is she so good at that?

He puts the plate down, turns, and leans back against the counter. Mercedes stops what she’s doing and Sylvain runs a hand through his hair. “We _are_ better friends than that,” he insists. “Sorry Mercedes, it’s just, I guess I’m still getting used to it.”

“Getting used to honesty?”

“Yeah that. I’ve not been very good at that lately.”

“I suppose it can take a little practice,” she says, “but I do like you better like this.”

He nods and looks out into the rest of the kitchen. They are the only ones here, everyone else has run off.

“I’m sure Ingrid likes you better like this too.”

At the mention of Ingrid’s name, he stiffens but tries valiantly to shake it off. He doesn’t succeed.

Mercedes, ever patient, waits for him to be ready. He thinks, if he stays there all day, she will too. He should have gone to her first.

But he doesn’t make her stay there all day. Instead, he finds his mouth begins to move, finds the words a little more easily. They are not elegant by any means but they are honest. She has that effect on him.

“Ingrid’s pretty,” he starts, not able to look at anything but his shoes, “but she’s also Ingrid, so that’s…confusing, but…”

This last part is harder to say, he is still parsing out all the reasons why. It is so simple and yet it fights him. He fights it.

Mercedes’ gentle gaze that he tries not to look at helps him along.

“I think I like her.”

—

It is not magically better because he admits it. It just means that he can stop lying to himself. That doesn’t mean he’ll stop lying to everyone else. Well, he’ll stop lying to Mercedes, but he’s still sort of fighting it. It’s just getting harder and harder to fight.

Also, he is completely painfully aware that it doesn’t seem to matter. His feelings for Ingrid are apparently the worst kept secret in all of Fódlan. Everyone is just too polite to say anything about it, or, if you’re Felix and Dimitri, too exasperated by him to deal with it.

He finds Dedue in the greenhouse, tending to the flowers. He hadn’t really sought out Dedue, it wasn’t like they’re that close, but he’s not currently talking to the rest of his friends right now and Dedue’s a cool guy. He could hang with Dedue.

And it was honestly really unlikely that Dedue would bring up Ingrid, which is nice. Hell, they might not even talk that much. Dedue isn’t that talkative in the first place and right now he’s busy with his flowers.

Sylvain supposes what he really wants is some company but he really doesn’t want company that’ll judge him. Dedue won’t judge him, he knows this.

Dedue is an excellent guy.

Not that his friends are judging him but they keep nudging him, nudging him towards Ingrid, towards admission, sincerity, and honesty. It can be a little exhausting.

“Sylvain,” Dedue greets when he enters. He is kneeling deep in the flower beds, not caring for the way the soil stains his uniform.

“Hey Dedue,” Sylvain greets, dropping down onto a bench.

They do not say anything for a while. Dedue works away at the plants, Sylvain occasionally watches him but mostly just sits. Today, there are only the two of them.

At some point, when Sylvain has sprawled out on the bench, lying there with an arm over his eyes to shield them from the sun, he hears Dedue.

“There are more rumors about you,” the man says.

Sylvain shrugs and doesn’t bother with getting up. “There are always rumors about me. What is it this time?”

Dedue hesitates before finally saying, "that you’ve changed. It seems people are finally seeing you.”

“I doubt that,” Sylvain says. “I think they’re probably just wondering why I’m acting so differently, that or they’re laughing at me,” He finally sits up, sees the look of contemplation on Dedue’s face and shrugs, “It’s not a big deal, I don’t mind it.”

“I’m not laughing at you,” Dedue says simply.

“Thanks,” Sylvain smiles, “I appreciate that.”

 _More than you know,_ he thinks.

He groans and then flops back down on the bench.

“Is something wrong?” Dedue asks.

“No it’s just-” He bites his lip, thinks about it, wonders if he should say anything but then he remembers, it’s Dedue. Dedue will not laugh at him. “It’s Ingrid,” he says. “I have feelings for her.”

“I see,” he hears. He can imagine Dedue nod, although he can’t see it.

“I guess, now that I’m saying that out loud, I’m kind of worried about, I don’t know, her misunderstanding me? I’ve joked around for so long that I’m worried she won’t get it.”

For a moment there is silence but Sylvain knows it is only because Dedue is thinking of what to say. Because he knows that Dedue probably didn’t expect Sylvain to come bursting through the doors of the greenhouse looking for advice like this. He doesn’t mind waiting for it. He’s not even sure he really even wants advice. Maybe he just wants an ear.

“You said to me once,” Dedue says finally, “that the only thing that can change sentiments is time and effort. Perhaps you need to put some in.”

Sylvain sits up again, wide-eyed, staring at Dedue. “Dedue, you’re a genius.”

His brain goes a mile a minute, several plans click into place, all of them a little too grand for Ingrid. Dedue stops them in place. “Perhaps,” his friend says, “You could start with some flowers.”

—

He does not end up picking any flowers. First, he doesn’t want to come off too strong, and second…he has given lots of flowers to lots of girls. Ingrid might take it as empty flattery which is the last thing he wants.

Dedue’s words seemed to make a lot of sense. At the time, they kickstarted a thought in his brain, the thought of wooing Ingrid. Images of picnic dinners and flowers he could tuck into her hair and a hundred possible ways to win her heart but before that, before that moment, he had never actually considered that.

He had considered biting her lip, he had considered running his hands against her bottom, he had considered lifting her and wrapping her legs around his waist as he carried her off, he had considered a lot of other things, really awesome things with Ingrid but he had not considered actually courting her.

But Dedue had said “time and effort” and in that brief burst of clarity, Sylvain’s mind had jumped automatically to that, automatically to picnics and tea and walks along some shoreline he's never been to.

He did not think much of it at the time but now he is staring up at a bookshelf wondering again.

The thought of courting Ingrid is terrifying. He has, at this point, accepted that she is incredibly stunning, accepted that he feels more than friendship for her, but he has not yet accepted that he wants to actually be with her.

He wants to be with Ingrid. What the hell? Since when?

He keeps staring at the books. He’s not even sure where he is. He feels like he has been wandering in a daze since talking to Dedue.

“Excuse me, Sylvain?” It’s Ashe, he has a book in his hand.

It takes Sylvain a moment to return to himself, “Oh, hey Ashe,” he finally greets, hoping it sounds casual.

His effort is a solid B+ he thinks, judging by the way Ashe doesn’t make a weird face at him.

The boy does, however, just stand there for a second, which is weird.

“I need to put this book back,” he says eventually.

“Oh!” Sylvain says, hopping off to the side. “Right, sorry.”

“No worries,” Ashe says, returning the giant tome. “Everything okay?”

Everyone seems to be asking him that lately. He guesses he has a lot of people who care about him after all. He’s not sure if he should be flattered or annoyed by it. Maybe a bit of both?

“Yeah,” Sylvain shrugs, “I guess I’ve just been a bit distracted is all.”

“Oh because of Ingrid?”

Sylvain slumps forward against the bookshelf with a groan, his forehead ends up pushing a book deeper into the shelf. “Wow, it really is everyone isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry,” Ashe offers. “I shouldn’t have pried, it’s not any of my business.”

Sylvain shrugs, turns around, and shoves his hands into his pockets, “Eh, it’s alright,” he decides. “Everyone already knows, and you’re my friend so it’s not a big deal.”

“Well, I’m not very good at this sort of thing but is there anything I can do to help?”

Sylvain initially wants to say no but, hell, he’s already talked to everyone else. Maybe Ashe can help provide him with another perspective. Might as well. “Actually,” he says, “I was just…wow this is weird to say out loud but, I guess…Ingrid’s, well she’s Ingrid, and I’m…just me. So I guess I’ve just been trying to figure that out, you know? What that might look like.”

He does not do a good job explaining, he can tell, but Ashe is nice and he can see the way his friend is trying to grasp onto what he’s saying. Sylvain really hopes he gets it, he really doesn’t want to try to explain that one out. He doesn’t really want to put everything into words yet.

“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Ashe says after a bit. “You’re a good person Sylvain and Ingrid has known you for a long time. Don’t you think she knows that too?”

He’s right. Ashe is absolutely right. His own insecurities aside for not being good enough for her or whatever, Ingrid knows him and she sticks around anyway, but that was all…platonic before.

“What if I ruin everything?” he says finally, says sadly.

“Do you really think that’s possible?” Ashe asks. “Because if you do, I don’t think you’re giving Ingrid enough credit.”

He’s right. Ashe is absolutely right.

—

It’s actually deceptively hard to find a quiet secluded place in the monastery. The place is huge but there are always people everywhere. The only private place he can think of is their own dorm rooms but he doesn’t want Ingrid to get the wrong idea.

So he focuses less on a place and more on a time. He thinks, late at night when everyone is retired, but out in the open so that it doesn’t feel like a trap.

He settles on the pier by the lake, slips a note to Ingrid in the morning asking him to meet her there long after dinner and waits.

He brings no flowers and prepares no lines. He will be sincere and honest with her, just like his friends have spent all week encouraging him to be for himself.

He hears her steps before anything else, then, from above, he hears her voice, lighthearted and amused among the starlight, “Finally ready to talk to me?”

He tilts his head back, blinks up at Ingrid who looks down on him. She is standing directly behind him. There is a smile on her face. He had expected her to be angry at him for avoiding her all week but she just seems kind right now.

His heart swells but so does his shame.

“Hey Ingrid,” he greets weakly, he clears his throat and tries again, “Yeah, sorry about that.”

Her hands brush against his shoulders as an acknowledgment as she sits down next to him, leaning back on her hands, her feet dangling off the pier and above the water.

He shivers at the contact and then shivers when it’s gone.

“It’s okay,” she tells him.

“You’re not mad?”

“I was mad,” she explains, “at first, but then it started to make sense.”

Annette was right. Of course, Ingrid knows.

“Sorry,” he says again.

“So?” Ingrid says, kicking his foot lightly with hers. “What are you going to do now?”

He hums and looks out into the water. He called Ingrid here for a reason. He was ready to face things head-on. At least, he thought he was.

His heart thumps in his chest. His mind drifts a bit and instead of thinking of throwing her on a bed, he thinks that he would very much like to hold her hand. His fingers twitch but he doesn’t try for it, not before he says it.

“Tell you? I guess.”

He’s stalling.

He doesn’t know why this is so damn hard. He has professed his undying love to many women before. He has held hands and jumped into bed. He has done a lot of things. Somehow this feels different.

Maybe it’s just because of Ingrid. Maybe it’s a simple as that.

“I’m listening,” she says quietly.

“You’re really pretty,” He blurts.

He watches Ingrid as he says it, watches the way she ducks her head away from him, color rushing into her cheeks. He has told her this before but she has never reacted like this. Maybe it’s the way he says it tonight, maybe it was the quiet mood of a late-night moment lakeside, maybe it was simply because he’s being sincere for once, honest for once.

“But it’s not just that,” he continues. “I keep trying to tell myself it’s just that but it really isn’t. It’s…that you’re always there for me. And that you’re kind but fair and amazing and you just…you put up with me and I know I can be a lot and I can be pretty stupid sometimes but even after spending a week avoiding you, you still showed up, you’re listening. That means a lot to me.”

“Sylvain…” she says, he feels her hand slip into his, feels a squeeze and when he looks at her, against the backdrop of a silent monastery, underneath the stars and the moon, he thinks he never wants to let this go.

“I really like you,” he says a little too quickly as if he’s afraid of what might follow after she says his name. “And I want to take you out. I want to try. Will you let me try?”

The smile that Ingrid gives him, the look in her eye, bright, and a little shy without a hint of suspicion, tells him that he’s in a lot deeper than he thought because, in this moment, he is pretty sure he’s fallen in love with her.

But his words are already out there, his question is hers to answer.

“We can try,” she says, hand in his, leaning forward to catch her lips against his cheek. It is all he can do not to turn. She finds her place against his shoulder, he wraps an arm around her, pulls her closer, close enough that he knows she can hear the way his heart beats fast against her, and they sit there with each other for long while.

Next time, he thinks, next time I’ll tell her the rest.

**Author's Note:**

> Trying to incorporate everyone's individual supports was a fool's errand but...I tried?
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed this little endeavor!


End file.
